


Coming Home is Easy

by Pawprinter



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Canon Compliant, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, IT Chapter Two Spoilers, Idiots in Love, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sick Character, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 09:09:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20654717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pawprinter/pseuds/Pawprinter
Summary: 5 times Eddie and Richie said goodbye, and 1 time they said hello.





	Coming Home is Easy

**Author's Note:**

> IT ruined me. Reddie now owns my soul. I have no regrets.
> 
> A small warning: this fic includes the mention of the death of a pet.
> 
> This is rated T for coarse language.
> 
> Enjoy!

**** _ **i.** _

“Your saviour is here!”

Eddie let out a tiny groan in response, which was muffled by the thick blanket being pulled over his head. Richie snorted when he saw him, a warmth bubbling up inside of him.

“Go away,” he groaned, still not pulling the blanket from his face.

“Nice to see you too, Eds.”

Richie quickly surveyed the house as he walked in. Eddie was sprawled out across the sofa in the living room, the television was playing silently across from him, and a wide variety of drinking glasses peppered the coffee table only inches away from the couch. Joining the glasses on the table was a few crumpled up tissues and a half-eaten package of crackers.

Yeah, he was sick alright. Richie knew Eddie would never leave his snot cloths laying around if he didn’t have any other choice.

“Thank fuck I came when I did.” Richie ignored Eddie’s protests and walked fully into the room. “Don’t tell me all you’ve had to eat were  _ crackers _ ?”

“I’m sick,” he mumbled. “All I  _ want  _ to eat is crackers.”

“Right.” Richie picked up one of the scrunched up tissues and tossed it into the garbage bag off to the side, pulling a face as he did. “How you doing, man?”

“How am I  _ doing? _ ” Eddie pulled down the edge of the blanket just enough so he could glare at Richie. “I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying.” Richie continued to throw the used tissues into the trash. Even if Eddie was too sick to care about where his snot ended up, he knew he would care when he started feeling better. Better him clean it now before he tried to do it himself. “Betty’s already back to school, and she got sick like… four days before you did. I expect you’ll make a full recovery.”

“I’m dying. I can feel it.” Eddie pulled the blanket up to cover his head.

“And Betty?”

“She had something different.” He wiggled around on the couch a few times, trying to move into a more comfortable position. Richie watched the lump of his body move around, a soft smile growing on his face. He didn’t do soft — really, he didn’t — but with Eddie, he  _ did.  _

Or, he  _ could.  _ It was an active choice.

“Or, maybe the bacteria that infected me was mutated,” Eddie continued to say. “I’ve read about that before, you know. People have died from that.”

“Mutants? No, not real. That’s some  _ X-Men _ shit.”

Eddie whipped down the blanket so his glare could be seen in all its glory. Richie had to fight to hide his smile. Poking at Eddie was like poking at a hornets’ nest, but with more enjoyment and less stinging.

“Are you kidding right now?” he snapped. “Mutants… Mutations aren’t just an  _ X-Men  _ thing, dipshit.” Well, it was nice to know that, even when he was too sick to move from the couch, he still had fire in him. “Mutations are… are…”

“I know what they are. That’s how Wolverine could do the claw thing.” Richie gave a poor impression of the character, crouching low and growling.

Eddie tossed a pillow at him. “Shut the fuck up.”

Richie’s facade broke and he grinned. He loved this annoyed, fiery, pissed off Eddie.

(He also loved the soft, gentle Eddie, and the scared shitless Eddie, and the joyful Eddie, and—

Fuck it. He loved  _ all  _ of Eddie, and  _ every  _ Eddie.

He loved Eddie.)

“Holy fuck,” Richie breathed. He reached up to adjust his glasses and made a show of squinting in the other boy’s direction. Eddie’s hair was poking out in dozens of directions, his face was a sickly grey colour, his lips were cracked, his eyes sunken. In short— “You look like shit.”

Eddie threw another pillow at his head. “Alright, that’s it! I’m done! Get out, Tozier.” Richie doubled over in laughter. Eddie let out a pathetic snuffle and sunk back into the couch. “I hope you’re happy. You’re making fun of a dying man.”

“First of all, you’re not dying. Secondly, I’m not making fun of you!” Eddie scowled. “Okay, well, maybe I am a  _ tiny  _ bit, but… Come on. You love me.” His heart clenched painfully at the words. While they were said teasingly, he couldn’t ignore the weight behind them. He changed the topic to cover the pain. “Besides, I speak the truth, Eds. You look like shit.”

“Well, you  _ smell  _ like shit.” Eddie pulled a face. “I mean, seriously, what have you been doing?” Before Richie could speak, he was cutting him off. “And  _ don’t  _ say my mom!”

He doubled over with laughter again. Only Eddie could make him laugh like this without really even trying.

Richie loved fighting with Eddie — of course, they weren’t  _ actually  _ fighting — Richie could never do that to him — but this banter was playful and fun. It was tinged with annoyance and frustration and bad jokes, most of the time, but Richie  _ loved  _ it.

He knew Eddie loved it too.

“I’m going to let that slide because you’re sick,” he said as soon as he managed to get a hold on his laughter. “But, just so you know, I smell like shit because I biked all across the fucking town. First to school and back home, then to the grocery store on Main, back home,  _ then  _ to a different store because apparently everyone in this fucking shithole wants  _ noodles  _ — I mean, what the fuck? What kind of store sells out of fucking noodles? — and then back home again. And, after that, here.”

Eddie looked more curious than annoyed now, and the bemused expression on his face made Richie’s heart skip a few beats. 

“Why’d you bike to a million different places?”

“Oh.” Richie pointed to the plastic container he left on the side table by the front door. “I, uh… I brought you something.” He adjusted his glasses — a nervous habit of his. “Soup. I made you soup. Because, I don’t know, you’re sick.”

He tried not to make it a big deal, but it was. 

Richie rarely cooked anything for himself, never mind other people. And, really, he had gone out of his way to purchase the ingredients, and make it, and bring it to him. 

Eddie was sick though, and sitting by uselessly as he suffered was shitty. Soup wasn’t a miracle cure, but he felt better knowing that he was doing something.

He’d do anything for him, as sappy as that sounded.

“You made me soup?” Eddie looked even  _ more  _ bewildered than before.

“I washed my hands, if that’s what your worried about.” Teasingly, he licked the palm of his hand before turning it to show him. “See? Clean.”

Eddie pulled a face. “That’s fucking disgusting.” His eyes flicked back to the container of soup and his expression softened. “I just… You made me soup. Why?”

_ Because I care about you, asshole. _

_ Because I hate seeing you sick. _

_ Because I want to take care of you. _

_ Because I love you. _

Instead of the truth, Richie hid behind jokes.

( _ Classic _ , he thought.)

“It’s a goodbye present — seeing as, you know, you’re dying and whatever.”

The tenderness of the moment evaporated. Eddie looked annoyed again, with his eyes narrowed, jaw locked, and lips pressed tightly together. “Fuck off,” he said.

“Well, if we  _ were  _ really saying goodbye, I’d probably do something a bit  _ more.  _ I have always been one for theatrics.” He was still scowling at him, and Richie’s heart was racing. “I mean, I’d probably go all out and bring you more than just my shitty soup.”

“I love your shitty soup.”

“You haven’t even tried my shitty soup.”

Eddie glanced towards the container again. After a drawn out moment, he turned back to Richie. “I will.”

“What?”

“I will try your soup that is most  _ definitely _ not shitty.” He pouted. “Bring it? And a spoon? Please?”

Richie was stunned that he wasn’t bickering more. It must’ve been because he was sick. When he got sick, he was usually softer, too. He was sure Eddie would’ve thrown another pillow at his head with the goodbye joke, yet, somehow, it turned into Eddie pouting and asking him for soup.

When Richie returned with the requested items, Eddie had pulled himself into a partial sitting position with his feet still stretched out on the couch. Richie intended to sit across the room and leave Eddie the whole couch to himself, but he patted the end cushion with his foot.

An invitation to sit.

Richie fell to the couch beside him and Eddie placed his feet on his lap. He had to pretend that his heart wasn’t racing from the contact. He had to pretend that Eddie didn’t make him feel like he was flying and falling at the same time.

He watched as he ate the soup — slowly and hesitantly, at first, but then eagerly after. Eddie gave him a thumbs up. “I was right. Not shitty at all.” He spoke with his mouth partially full.

_ Poor guy,  _ Richie thought,  _ he’s so sick that he’s delusional.  _

As he continued to eat, his calves pressed down on Richie’s legs a little harder, like he was  _ enjoying  _ the physical contact.

_ He’s sick,  _ Richie told himself.  _ People get clingy when they’re sick. _

And, while it made sense that Eddie was touchier than usual, it still threw Richie when he shifted a little closer to him, and, even more so when Eddie next spoke. “This is the  _ best  _ goodbye present,” he said, the spoon still partially in his mouth. “Too bad I have a mutated cold and am going to die before I get more.” To prove that he was now joking, he jabbed his toe into Richie’s stomach. 

He swatted it away and scowled. “You’re not dying, Eds. You just have a cold.”

“No, I’m totally dying.” As if to make his point, he sniffled a bit. “See? Dying.”

_ Ah,  _ there it is; the Eddie that would banter with him without the heat and annoyance. Just playful back and forth.

“You’re right. That definitely qualifies as dying.” Eddie grinned at him and shovelled another spoonful of soup into his mouth. “Although, if this  _ truly  _ is goodbye, I’d probably tell you something important.”

“Like what?”

“That I fucked your mom.” Eddie’s toe jabbed Richie in the stomach again, this time harder than before, and he jolted. Richie clamped his hands down on his legs, holding them in place. “I’m kidding. Geez.”

“You suck at goodbyes,” Eddie pointed out. “If that’s the last word’s you’d ever say to me, I’d hate you.”

“Well, then, I’d just tell you that you’re my best friend and that I love you instead.” Richie tried to say it as nonchalantly as possible, but it was a losing battle to his pounding heart and fluttering stomach.

_ Fuck.  _ That didn’t sound platonic.

The spoon remained in Eddie’s mouth for a long moment, with both of the boys staring at each other, before he pulled it out. He waved it in his direction, a smirk lifting his lips.

“Look at you, you big softie.” Richie rolled his eyes. “See? Now  _ that’s  _ a better goodbye. It has more depth and feeling. Nice one.” He swallowed another spoonful of soup.

“Yeah, well… Goodbyes  _ should  _ be filled with depth and feeling and other shit, right?” Richie was growing uncomfortable because  _ fuck  _ this was getting too close to the  _ feeling  _ category, and that was something he wasn’t prepared to deal with just yet. He tried to hide his panic behind a smirk. “But, since you’re not  _ actually  _ dying and that soup isn’t  _ actually  _ a goodbye present, I’ll just tell you that you’re an ass and look like shit.”

Eddie smirked at that. “At least I don’t  _ smell  _ like shit.” 

The panic ebbed away. 

_ Crisis averted. _

“If this was actually a goodbye present, and if this really  _ was  _ a mutated cold, I’d tell you the same thing,” he admitted after a long moment. Richie’s heart froze in his chest. “You’re my best friend, Rich, and… I love you too.”

He could nearly  _ sob  _ from how those words made him feel. His heart felt like it was physically ripping in two because, no matter what, those words wouldn’t mean what he wanted them to mean.

“You’re pretty shit at saying goodbye with copying me and all,” he said, trying for a joke.

It had its desired effect.

Eddie whipped a pillow at his head. Richie pulled at his leg, making him slip down the couch.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed. “My soup!”

* * *

** _ii._ **

Autumn was Richie’s least favourite time of the year. Summer had decayed into this uglier rip-off version, everything was cold and wet, and wasps seemed to follow him everywhere. The season was made more bearable by all of the good movies released for Halloween, and that was good enough for him.

As it turned out, Eddie  _ also  _ hated autumn, mainly because the change of seasons caused his allergies to go haywire. Most of September and October were spent sneezing and sniffling. The season was made more bearable for him by spending it inside, away from the moulds and dry air.

They found themselves spending more and more time together, with just the two of them. Billy and Beverly were always off on the next great adventure, Mike’s spare time was eaten up with work, and Ben and Stanley spent their time hauled up in the library studying. 

(Once, Richie made the mistake of trying to join them.)

(That adventure ended with the three of them nearly getting banned from library property.)

(He hadn’t been invited back to the study group.)

Most of their days were spent at the movies or arcade and it was  _ nice.  _ Of course, Richie loved spending time with the group, but spending time with just Eddie was different.

It was  _ special. _

There wasn’t anyone in the world that Richie knew better than he knew Eddie, and he doubted anyone knew him better than Eddie did. They’d seen all sides of each other — the annoyed, the rough, the frustrated, the sick, the stressed, the terrified, the goofy, the happy — and he still loved him.

In fact, he loved him even more for all his emotions.

This was how they found themselves at a late-night showing of some shitty horror movie. It had a terrible script and even worse characters, but at least the jump scares were good. Richie could’ve sworn that the hairs along the back of his neck were standing straight up.

Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Eddie. He was leaning forward in his seat, his eyes wide and mouth slightly parted. Richie recognized this expression easily; he’d seen it more times than he could count.

He was scared shitless.

That was the point of scary movies, and there was something liberating over the fact they were  _ choosing  _ to be terrified instead of it being forced upon them by a creepy clown. They were scared, but it was their own fear of their own choosing.

Eddie yelped and flew back in his seat as a loud crash reverberated from the screen. The corners of Richie’s lips twitched upwards and his heart flipped around.

“Did you see that? Did you  _ fucking  _ see that?” Eddie hissed loudly. He turned to Richie, his eyes wide with shock. He watched him with affection filling his chest. Eddie’s expression wavered. “Wh— What?” He lifted a hand to his face, wiping at his cheek, as if he were wiping dirt from it. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

_ Shit. _

“Like what?” Richie cleared his throat and turned back to the screen. 

His heart was pounding in his chest. He knew, realistically, he shouldn’t have been terrified by getting caught staring _ (gazing)  _ at his best friend — he fought a fucking killer clown for god’s sake — but it made him clam up regardless. 

“Fuck, this movie is  _ literally  _ terrifying.” Eddie shifted in his seat, inching closer to Richie. He was hyper aware of his movement, unable to truly focus on the movie screen.

“Yea. Terrifying.” 

Richie tried his best to turn his attention to the movie, but he couldn’t get into it. He was watching Eddie out of the corner of his eye, beyond fascinated to watch how the light reflected against his face, and how his lips kept twisting with disgust, and how he clenched his jaw out of fright.

Fuck, he was so far gone, it wasn’t even funny.

Eddie must’ve sensed eyes on him and his gaze flicked away from the screen. Richie wasn’t fast enough and their eyes met. Eddie lifted his eyebrows.

_ Fuck.  _ Richie felt his face flush and he was  _ absolutely sure  _ Eddie was going to make a fucking comment, a stupid comment, because that’s what  _ he  _ would’ve done to hide from this situation, and  _ of course  _ Eddie was going to—

“Hold my hand?”

Richie nearly choked on his tongue. His eyes flew open and his jaw dropped ( _ very subtle, by the way)  _ from shock. 

No fucking way Eddie was asking him to—

Oh, shit.

Eddie stretched his hand over the armrest, placing it palm up. He looked so at ease — like this was the simplest thing in the world.

( _ It is simple, _ Richie thought,  _ just take his fucking hand. _ )

He did.

His movement was hesitant at first — his hand slowly moving towards Eddie’s — and his heart was racing. 

_ Chill the fuck out. You’ve touched his hand before. You’ve had a lot of physical contact — why is this any different? _

Richie didn’t have an answer to that, other than the fact that he was utterly in love with him now, but his mind was lagging behind his actions.

Eddie’s palm was warm and clammy, and that was so  _ him.  _ Their fingers wound together easily, like this was the hundredth time they’d done this. Richie’s heart was pounding and his mouth had run dry.

_ Fuck. _

Eddie gave him a quick smile before turning back to the movie. Almost instantly, his expression shifted back to being terrified, and Richie marvelled at his ability to lose himself to something so easily.

Unlike him, Richie wasn’t able to pay attention to the movie for the rest of the night. All he could focus on was the feel of Eddie’s hand under his.

.

“You barely jumped once,” Eddie pointed out, both of his hands clutching the half-eaten bag of popcorn. Richie’s hands were buried in his pockets, his palm still buzzing from clutching Eddie’s all night.

“Did not,” he argued. “I was scared.”

They pushed the doors to the theatre open and were hit with a rush of cold air. The sun had set hours ago, sucking all the warmth with it. Richie frowned.

Fucking autumn.

Eddie knee Richie though, and he knew that he hadn’t been scared. He’d seen him scared before — he’d seen him terrified, actually — and that hadn’t been it.

“If you didn’t want to see it, we could’ve done something else,” Eddie continued, leading the way towards their bikes. “I mean—”

“No, I wanted to see it,” Rich cut him off quickly. “I was just distracted. That’s all.”

_ Distracted by you — the way your hand tightened on mine, the way your breath hitched when you got scared, the way your eyes sparkled like they were the prettiest things I have ever seen. _

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Richie was overwhelmed with the amount of affection he had in his chest for the boy beside him. 

It felt like a bird in a cage — always there, waiting to get out, but trapped away regardless, always locked behind metal bars.

_ This is for the best,  _ he tried to convince himself.  _ Easier this way. _

They both unhooked their bikes from the rack. Richie busied himself by playing with the grips on the handle bars, desperate to keep his eyes off of Eddie.

Eddie turned to him after the silence stretched over a minute. His face was set with determination, and the intensity in his eyes made Richie’s heart skip a beat.

“Were you upset I held your hand?”

That one hit him in the gut.

Richie’s mouth flew open, but no words came out. He was hoping to hell that  _ something  _ would come out of his stupid mouth.

_ For fuck sakes, usually I can’t  _ ever  _ stop talking, and now I can’t manage a single word? _

Eddie studied his face, a concerned expression growing on his.

“No,” Richie managed to say. “No, that wasn’t it. I… uh… I wasn’t upset by that, Eds.”

“Oh. Okay.” He looked dejected, and Richie knew he must’ve thought he was lying.

“I’m serious,” he insisted. “ _ That  _ was nice.” He swallowed thickly. His mouth felt incredibly dry and his tongue thick. “I, uh… yeah.”

“Okay.”

Richie pushed up his glasses and chewed on his bottom lip. While the silence wasn’t exactly  _ awkward,  _ it wasn’t comfortable either.

_ Make your escape. Go before he questions you more. Run before the cage bursts open. _

“Listen, I gotta run.” Richie pointed in the direction of his house, already backing away on his bike slowly. “I have a hot date with your mom tonight.”

“Fuck off,” Eddie said. His growing smile made a peace settle inside Richie.

_ They’d be okay. _

With a wave over his head, he called to him. “Goodbye and goodnight, Eds!”

Eddie shook his head and pushed off the ground, pedaling in the opposite direction. “Night, asshole.”

* * *

** _iii._ **

Saying goodbye to a pet was one of the hardest things a human had to do.

The following spring, Riche got a pet goldfish, which he affectionately named Fish Solo _ .  _ He loved that damn fish, even if it wasn’t the brightest out of the bunch. He liked to stick to one tiny corner of the tank, he didn’t understand the logic behind  _ eating,  _ he liked to live in his own excrement, and, well…

Fish Solo didn’t last too long.

Not even a month later, the little guy passed away. Richie woke that morning to find out that he passed away peacefully in his sleep (or so he hoped).

Eddie was the first person he called.

“Can you come over?” he asked, his voice shaking. He didn’t know how he got so attached to the fish in such a short amount of time, but it felt like his heart was cracking in two. He never had to say goodbye to something he loved before.

“What’s wrong?” Ever the perceptive one, Eddie caught onto Richie’s distress immediately. “Are you hurt? Do I need to bring my first aid kit?”

While the question was serious, Richie couldn’t help but let out a watery laugh at that.

“No, that’s not it.” He sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “It’s Fish Solo. He died.”

Silence, and then— 

“Shit, Rich. I’m so sorry.” Somehow, that made him want to cry harder. His throat was tight and his eyes burned. His knuckles were white from gripping the phone so tightly. “I’ll be over soon. Did you want me to call the others? I can—”

“No. Just you.” Richie sniffed again. “I just want you.”

“Alright. I’ll be over soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

The line went dead.

.

True to his word, Eddie arrived at Richie’s house shortly after he hung up. When he entered Richie’s room, he was gasping for breath and was red in the face.

“I came as fast as I could.”

Under normal circumstances, Richie was sure he would've tried to tease him about how shitty and flustered he looked, but he didn’t have the heart to in that moment. 

He managed a feeble smile. As soon as he hung up, he realized how  _ ridiculous  _ he must’ve sounded, begging him to drop everything he was doing and come over.

“Sorry for making you come, but—”

“No,” Eddie said strongly. “I won’t allow you to be sorry. This is important.” He crossed the room and took Richie’s hand in his. “I want to be here. For you. And for Fish Solo, too.”

He swallowed thickly and tried to force the lump in his throat down. “Thanks, Eds.” He sought comfort in the simplicity of his hand on his, and with the warmth in his eyes, and with the way his face was twisted in concern.

Standing beside Eddie, he felt less alone.

Ten minutes later, Richie was a blubbering mess as he stared at the toilet bowl. Eddie had his arm slung around his shoulders, attempting to comfort his sobbing best friend.

“He was such a good fish,” Richie said as soon as he calmed down enough to speak. “Fuck, he was so stupid, but he was good! Never p-peed on my carpet. Didn’t chew my shoes. Never ate my homework.”

It was a half-assed attempt at a joke. It left Richie sobbing again.

Eddie watched him closely. It was clear he wanted to say something more, but couldn’t.

He cleared his throat and shifted forward, taking Richie’s spot overtop of the toilet bowl.

“He was a good fish,” he continued for Richie. The boy in his arms sniffed loudly. “He, uh, he did fish things. He was a good swimmer. He didn’t really  _ like  _ swimming, but he didn’t drown either, so that’s good.” Richie let out a wet laugh. “And… Oh! He  _ loved  _ when you bought him that one little green plant, remember, Rich?”

“That was the only time he swam to the other side of the tank,” he recalled. He wiped his tears on the back of his hand and sucked in a quick breath. “Yeah, I remember.”

“And, remember how happy he was for those first five minutes when you bought him the smaller tank?”

“Yeah, he was happy.”

“Right.” Eddie squeezed his shoulder and peered into the toilet bowl. “Fish Solo was a good fish, and now he’s gone onto the life’s next adventure.”

“Except  _ not  _ life’s next adventure… because he’s dead… so….” Richie sniffled. “More like  _ death’s  _ next adventure.” He moved forward and peered down at the orange fish again. “Goodbye, Fish Solo. May the force be with you.”

He clung to Eddie’s side as the current swept him away.

* * *

_ **iv.** _

The quarry was as shitty looking as ever, but it felt like a second home to the Losers Club that summer. Most days, the seven of them could be found along the rocky shore or in the murky water.

On the days they spent along the rocky shore, they’d usually do their own things. Ben and Mike, bonded over their love of books and studying ( _ yes,  _ even in the summer), while the rest of them played board games or joked around.

This particular Saturday was too windy to comfortably go swimming, and they sat in a circle with a deck of cards. Rocks were placed on the piles of cards in the middle, preventing them from being swept away by the wind. They knew it would’ve made more sense to play cards games inside on a windy day, but there was nowhere else in the city that they could play like this. After all, their games got more than a little intense, with all the screaming, and tackling, and—

“Bullshit!” Eddie jumped up from where he was seated and pointed across at Beverly. His hand was shaking wildly and his eyes wide. “Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit!”

She smiled sweetly. “Whatever do you mean, Edward?”

He glared fiercely. Richie pushed up his glasses and watched the exchange in fascination.  _ Fuck,  _ Eddie always looked beautiful when he was intense.

“Flip your cards over then, Bev, see what I fucking mean! You cheated, I called it, you pick up the cards!” 

It was safe to say this game of cheat was getting a little out of hand.

Beverly reached forward and flipped over the last placed card. “I called a seven and — surprise, surprise — it’s a seven!” She picked up the thick stack of cards and waved them in Eddie’s direction. “Suck on that, Kaspbrak. Pick it up!”

Richie tried to hide his wide grin behind his hand. Eddie’s expression was fucking hilarious; his mouth was agape, his eyes wide with disbelief, and horror slowly dawning on him. By incorrectly calling cheat on Beverly, he became the proud new owner of close to fifty cards.

“Wha— Wha— What!? No. No fucking way. You cheated! I saw you!” Beverly maintained her innocence and passed the stack of cards to Eddie. He gaped at them. “Oh my god. Oh my fucking god!”

“You got owned! Although, I’m not surprised. You lose one hundred and ten percent of our games.” Richie said. Eddie turned his ire to him, the fire in his eyes burning brighter.

“You know what, Richard, one hundred and ten percent doesn’t even exist!” 

“Well, you’re fucked now with all those cards! Me, on the other hand, I could handle all those cards  _ in my fucking sleep. _ ”

Eddie glared. “You know what, asshole? Take them! If you’re so good at this game, I wanna see it!

Richie stood up to match Eddie. He loved when they were both in the mood to banter like this. Eddie was scary when he was angry, but, luckily for him, he  _ loved  _ him when he was angry.

(And sick, and sad, and happy, and scared, and—)

“I don’t think I will, Eddie, my love.”

Eddie was less impressed with Beverly. “Fuck you, man.”

He could see amusement flickering in his eyes and it made Richie’s heart skip a few beats. He was captivating.

“Like I fucked your mo—”

“Bye, bitch.”

With that, Eddie moved forward and grabbed Richie’s wrist. As he was flung over the edge of the rocky shore, Richie decided that he had a surprising amount of strength in such a tiny body.

Richie toppled the short distance into the water, hitting the surface with a sharp slap. The water was cold and stung his skin. He resurfaced a few seconds later, his glasses clutched in his hands and payback on his mind.

On the shore, Eddie was doubled over with laughter. They locked eyes, and a playful smile tugged at his lips. 

“You’re on, Kaspbrak. You’re on!”

Richie raced forward, quickly climbing onto the rocky shore and chasing after Eddie. The shorter boy let out a wild laugh before taking off in the opposite direction.

_ Richie loved the sound of his laugh.  _

The two raced across the shore, hurdling over dead tree branches and jagged rocks. The water slapped against the side of the bank rhythmically. The wind caused Richie to feel like he was getting frozen solid.

He heard Eddie’s laugh again when he managed to catch him. His arms hooked around his waist and he lifted him up, pulling him close to his chest. Eddie’s head flew back from the force of his laughter, hitting Richie roughly on the shoulder.

He walked further off the shore before he fell backwards, pulling them both under the water. Richie’s arms were still wrapped around his waist when they resurfaced moments later, although they now faced chest to chest.

“Fuck!” Eddie yelped, sputtering water from his mouth. “Cold! So cold!” Richie squirted water from his mouth directly into his face. Eddie jerked away, but continued laughing. “That’s fucking gross, Richard.”

“Let me take this moment to remind you that  _ you  _ started this,” he announced. 

Eddie lunged forward and dunked him under water again, laughing wildly. Richie pulled his legs out from under him, bringing him under too. 

Back and forth, they lunged at each other. Their arms were wrapped around each other’s shoulders, water splashed at each other’s faces, legs tangled underwater.

When they resurfaced minutes later, they were both gasping for air. Their arms remained sling around each other as they caught their breaths.

Richie was shivering from the ruthless wind and ice cold water. Eddie managed to get the water from his eyes and was now looking at him with a newfound intensity.

Richie’s heart skipped a beat and he was suddenly aware of how close they were. They were wrapped in each other’s embrace, their faces only inches away from each other’s.

His eyes dropped down to Eddie’s lips. They were looking slightly blue from the cold. He could see goosebumps running along the tops of his arms. He could feel his hands shaking against his biceps.

Richie glanced back up at Eddie, all thoughts gone from his mind. He could barely breathe being this close to Eddie, never mind speak.

His breath caught in his throat when Eddie’s gaze flicked down to his lips. Eddie had fallen silent and was staring at him like he was waiting for something.

_ Kiss him,  _ he told himself.  _ Just fucking kiss him. _

Richie did the most Richie thing to do.

_ He panicked. _

“Bye, bitch.”

With that, he dragged both of them beneath the surface of the water once again, shattering the tender moment.

* * *

** _v._ **

The first one to leave Derry was Bill, after his family decided that this was the best way to move on from the trauma of losing a son. Not much longer after that was Bev, and then Stan.

They all left the remaining Losers the same way; with one last hug, teary eyes, and a promise to stay in contact. _ “I’ll write,” _ Bill had promised,  _ “how could I not?” _

He didn’t.

None of them did.

Ben was the one to point it out, some time after Beverly had left. Seeing his friend’s face crumple with dejection tore into Richie’s heart. _ “You don’t think she forgot about us, do you?”  _ Ben asked.

_ “No,” _ Eddie told him with a fierceness only he possessed.  _ “She wouldn’t do that. I don’t think anyone could forget what happened to us. She’s probably just busy.” _

Weeks faded into months, and months faded into years. Autumns came and went, Christmases and summers all passed and, still, no letter, no phone call — nothing.

The group grew smaller and smaller. Despite everything they shared, they started to grow apart. Without everyone there, gaping holes were obvious when they got together, and it wasn’t the same.

The two that didn’t grow apart were Richie and Eddie. Richie doubted he’d ever grow apart from Eddie — the type of love he had for the other man wouldn’t just vanish. No. He loved him too much, too deeply, too strongly. Loving Eddie was like a part of his soul.

They called each other names, and liked to fight, and made jokes about each other’s moms. They held each other when they cried over lost pets or shitty test marks, and made each other soup when flu season hit, and held each other’s hands during scary movies.

Richie doubted things would ever really change between them. It felt like they were meant to be best friends for a long time, and he was happy with that. 

He wanted Eddie in his life for a long time.

Which is why Richie wasn’t worried when he was moving away. 

The date was set for autumn, and he didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter. The whole Tozier family was packing up and leaving Derry, moving onward to bigger and better things.

(Nothing could get better than Eddie — not to Richie, anyways.)

On the day of the move, the Losers said their goodbyes. Ben cried. Mike made him promise to write. Eddie was silent. 

_ Too silent — uncharacteristically silent. _

When it was just Eddie and Richie left, the truth came spilling out.

“Will you write? Actually?” Eddie’s voice was frantic and desperate. Richie tried to ignore the way his heart twisted.

“Of course. Wouldn’t want you losers to forget your favourite person, would I?”

Eddie was silent. He leaned against the hood of Richie’s car nonchalantly, but he saw through his act. It was an expression that he was familiar with.

_ Eddie was scared shitless. _

“It’ll be okay, Eds,” he promised him, reaching for his hand. 

Holding his hand had become second nature after all these years.  _ He was going to miss holding his hand at the movies, or curling up on the couch with him to watch television, or sharing the tiny hammock in the clubhouse with him.  _

Simply put, he was going to miss him.

“I’ll write. I’ll call. I’ll do whatever.”

Eddie still looked concerned, but he didn’t say anything. He squeezed Richie’s hand once before speaking again.

“Will you remember me?” His voice shook and sounded so hesitant, like he was afraid of the answer.

Richie’s throat felt like it was closing shut. He couldn’t imagine his life without Eddie. If he ever forgot about him, it would be like losing a piece of his own soul, leaving behind an empty gap.

He searched Eddie’s eyes, desperate to convince him things would be okay.  _ Because they would be okay. They had to be okay.  _

“I think I’ll always remember you,” he said, his voice strained with emotion. In pure Richie fashion, he added, “You’re a huge pain in my ass, Eds. I don’t think I’d ever forget that.”

Eddie wasn’t impressed by his joke. The corners of his lips didn’t even twitch like Richie liked.

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice thick. “I’m not fucking around, Rich. I… I don’t want you to forget me like Beverly forgot Ben, or how Bill forgot Beverly.”

The two examples Eddie used weren’t lost on him.  _ Those three were in love —  _ they loved each other the same way that Richie loved Eddie.

He struggled to speak.

“I won’t forget you, Eds. I will remember you.”

_ It was a promise he intended on keeping. _

Richie felt like he was suffocating with emotions. He tried to convince himself that it would be okay, that he’d stay in contact with Eddie, that he’d visit Derry and the other Losers when he could. 

He tried to convince himself that nothing would change.

But, the truth of the matter was that he was scared shitless, too.

This was goodbye, and it was the hardest one that he had to do in his life thus far.

“Come here,” Richie said, his voice whispered. 

They both moved together simultaneously, pulling each other into fierce hugs. Richie clung to Eddie like a life raft, desperate to hold onto the strands of this moment. 

He didn’t want to pull away. 

He didn’t want to leave. 

_ He didn’t want to forget. _

He wanted to stay here, wrapped up in the embrace of the man he loved.

This was where he felt the safest, despite all the shit that happened to them here with that fucking clown. This was where he felt at home.

No, not in Derry.

_ With Eddie. _

Fuck, when did he turn into such a sap?

Eddie was the one to pull from the embrace first by lifting his head from his shoulder. He didn’t step completely out of Richie’s arms; instead, he pulled away just enough to be able to see his face.

Richie’s eyes dipped to his lips. They were slightly parted and captivating, so fucking captivating. The urge to close the distance between them grew.

_ Do it,  _ he told himself.  _ Kiss him. Just fucking kiss him. _

_ Kiss him. _

_ Kiss hi _ —

Eddie was the one to capture his lips with his own. Richie’s eyes flew open in shock and the gasp got stuck at the back of his throat. A beat passed before he managed to get ahold of himself and kiss him back. 

The kiss was sweeter than Richie ever imagined it would be — it was better, sweeter, warmer. He tried to pour all of his emotions into it — all the love, and the hope, and the desperation. It felt like his heart was going to crack in two from the ferocity of it all.

His hand moved up to cup Eddie’s cheek, holding it with all the tenderness he could muster. Eddie’s hands gripped the front of Richie’s shirt, as if holding the material would prevent him from leaving Derry.

When they pulled away from each other, their chests were heaving and his mind was spinning. He stared at him, his eyes wide because—

_ Holy shit, did that just happen? _

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” Eddie admitted, his voice breathy.

Richie’s jaw dropped. “Wha— What the  _ fuck,  _ Kaspbrack!?  _ You  _ have no idea how long  _ I’ve  _ been wanting to do that!” His fingers moved along the curve of his cheek. The amount of affection in his heart made it feel like it was splitting in two. And then, finally— “Fuck, Eds, I love you. I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for a long time.”

He leaned into his touch. “I’m in love with you too, Rich. Always have been, always will.”

Their lips met again for another kiss.

_ Saying goodbye that day was the hardest thing Richie had ever done.  _

Richie always intended to return home when he left that day. 

“I’ll see you soon, Eds.”

_ It wasn’t goodbye.  _

_ It was a promise for a future. _

* * *

** _+i._ **

_ Richie had intended on keeping that promise. _

When he left Derry over twenty years ago, he swore to himself — and Eddie — that they would keep in touch, that he’d come back home.

_ He didn’t. _

It didn’t take too long for him to forget where home was.

( _ Who  _ home was.)

His memories were stolen and a gaping hole in his soul was left behind. He was right with what he thought that day; forgetting Eddie was like forgetting a piece of himself.

Now, twenty-seven years later, he was back home and the memories were clicking into place.

Eddie. Eds. The man he loved for so long — a love forgotten.

The first time he saw him, everything came rushing back.  _ The soup. The movie theatre. The funeral. The quarry. The promises. The kiss.  _

And, fuck, he couldn’t deny it — he could still feel that warmth in his chest. He still looked at him like he hung the moon in the sky. As soon as he saw him in the restaurant, he remembered wanting to spend the rest of his life by his side. 

Joking. Fighting. Living. Loving.

He still loved him.

Across the table from each other, they locked eyes. He wondered if Eddie remembered, or if this was all just a fucked up thing his mind came up with to torture him.  _ The kiss, the confessions, the _ — 

Eddie reached over and grabbed his hand. Richie’s heart came to a jarring halt. They had been here before, grabbing each other’s hands, whispering secrets to each other.

Nope. This was real.  _ They  _ were real.

“Eds,” he breathed, his voice already breaking.

His fingers flexed against his own. “Later,” Eddie promised him. His words were an echo of their last promise and it made Richie feel sick.

“Later,” he agreed.

Eddie dropped his hand. Richie pretended his heart didn’t give a painful lurch.

.

Back at the hotel, when pasts had been revealed and plans had been made, everyone returned to their own rooms.

_ Everyone except Richie. _

He knocked sharply on Eddie’s hotel room door, his heart pounding. His mind was buzzing with possibilities — that he might not remember, that he might not feel the same anymore, that they might be different, that—

The door opened. Richie’s breath caught in his throat. Eddie looked as good as he remembered him looking when they were teenagers. His eyes were unchanged; still so wide with curiosity and rich in colour.

They looked at each other for a long time, both unsure exactly what to say. There was so much to talk about, so much to figure out, so much they needed to work through.

Richie broke the silence.

“Hey.”

Eddie’s smile hadn’t changed either. “Hi.”

_ As they came to find out, saying hello was much easier than saying goodbye. _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Comments and kudos are appreciated!!
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com)  



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